


Blood of the First Men

by BrightneeBee



Series: A Song of Ice and Fire: Lady Kenna Reed [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Broken Heart, F/M, Growing to Love, Oral Sex, Passion, Previous Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s) relationship, Robb Stark/Original Female Character - Freeform, Romantic Tension, Rough Sex, Scottish Gaelic as the First Language, Sexual Tension, War violence, the Neck has their own Gods, two paths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightneeBee/pseuds/BrightneeBee
Summary: The chaos following the arrest of Lord Eddard Stark had proven advantageous. It exploded through the Red Keep, nobles running here and there, Red Cloaks rounding northerners up for execution, Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard marching through the corridors. No one could dispel the swift shift in the air, the tension running through the castle. It was the perfect moment to slip through unnoticed, since no one was paying attention to the shadows....
Relationships: Robb Stark/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Song of Ice and Fire: Lady Kenna Reed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573654
Kudos: 10





	Blood of the First Men

**Author's Note:**

> Starts off differently than Lionheart (Jaime/OFC) & Oathbreakers (Tyrion/OFC), but like each story in this series, will hold a different path and ending, yet still ignoring season 8, which never happened, does not exist in my opinion. 
> 
> No regrets!

CHAPTER ONE 

The Lady of House Reed

  
  


The chaos following the arrest of Lord Eddard Stark had proven advantageous. It exploded through the Red Keep, nobles running here and there, Red Cloaks rounding northerners up for execution, Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard marching through the corridors. No one could dispel the swift shift in the air, the tension running through the castle. It was the perfect moment to slip through unnoticed, since no one was paying attention to the shadows. 

Kenna and her accompanying household, the dozen of crannog men and women that had arrived in the capitol with her and the royal caravan, had been anticipating a rather eventful transition of power. Yet, nothing had been prepared for the arrest of the Lord of Winterfell, and the slaughter of most of his own household. He should have listened when Baelish advised him to never trust easily. King’s Landing was a viper’s nest of corruption and deceit. 

In the Tower of the Hand, Kenna intersected Sansa Stark. The girl threatened to scream as Sandor Clegane advanced, sent to fetch her by Cersei, but the towering beast of a man stopped at the sight of Kenna. His features softened, and he took a step back. 

The breath in Kenna’s lungs was almost forced out by the suddenness of Sansa embracing her, but her gaze was focused entirely on the sadness in Sandor’s brown eyes, “Come, sweet girl. We need to hide, and soon we’ll be gone. Back to Winterfell, just as your father wanted.” 

“What about my father? What about Arya?” cried Sansa, body shaking with anxiety and fear. 

“Arrested and missing, m’lady,” answered Kenna, smoothing fiery red stray strands away from the girl’s very young, very pretty face. “But not for long. You’ll all be together when we leave this place, but right now we need be gone, hidden.”

“What about him?” the girl sniffled, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with more tears. She meant Sandor, the Hound. The girl was terrified of him, and wary. She didn’t trust him, and Kenna could understand why - he had proved to be loyal to the Lannisters. “He’ll tell… They’ll know…” 

Kenna looked to Sandor, both sharing a look that the Stark girl wouldn’t understand until far later in her life. There were decisions made in those brief moments; words better left unsaid, but understood, nonetheless. It was farewell. They would never see each other again, most likely dying never truly knowing how much they meant to each other, but such would always be life. Intrinsically, they knew. Kenna knew, and Sandor knew. It would have to be enough. 

“No, sweet girl,” whispered Kenna, fighting back her own emotions and forcing a sad smile, eyes full of tears. “He will not betray us… Come, I sent my people to gather what you’ll need.” 

Sandor nodded to Kenna, and then left the way he came, disappearing down the main stairs, while she guided Sansa through a series of chambers before they entered an abandoned space between thick clay walls. Cobwebs covered in red dust fluttered in the narrow corridor, catching on their clothes. Sansa coughed and sneezed, and the hot, dense air caught in Kenna’s chest, but the girl kept quiet, following her rescuer as they descended through the keep on sloping floors, a mere meager candle between them.

Down into darkness both young women ventured, feeling their way through the small space by way of fingers and hands against old clay bricks, the dismal light of the flickering flame on the candle hardly enough to confidently step forward. It was a tedious journey, to be certain, but once the sloping ground turned to jagged steps, it was well worth the risk when the crampedness opened up into the dragon crypts, the miniscule opening hidden behind the glittering black skeleton of one of the giant beasts. 

“Noren?” whispered Kenna, peering out from behind the skull to see the growing light of flickering flame and hear the soft crunch of splintered remains under a heavy gait. “Fìdeag an e thu fhèin, Noren.” 

“Sàbhailte, mo bhean,” came a low, thick baritone, followed by a soft, quick whisper. 

Kenna helped Sansa gather her skirts and step gently through the space between the ribs. There was a tall, intimidating crannogman holding a lit torch. With a nod from Kenna, who still kept a protective arm around Sansa’s shoulders, Noren showing them the way, deeper into the tunnels underneath the keep, and to an abandoned cavern with easy access to Blackwater Bay. The hiding spot wasn’t far away from the black cells, either. The crannogs had done well in selecting and securing a most secluded place with Lord Varys’ assistance. 

It was damp and humid in the cavern, the floor covered in puddles of salt water and large, jagged rocks. Sansa was guided to a softer patch of ground, laden with blankets and furs, and wrapped in a shawl to help with the trembling fear gripping her. The girl was clueless, but quiet, almost contemplative, and for that Kenna was grateful. It allowed her time to turn to her people, a healthy gathering of 15 men and women, and discuss the next set of plans to get out of King’s Landing with as many Starks as possible. 

“Rabbie took Elly and Tyrne to retrieve the luggage, m’lady,” said Noren, wedging the torch between two sharp rocks, his accent thick - true to the Neck and the moors he’d been raised in. “We be wait’n on the spider to send word ab’t Laird Stark.” 

“Once we know where in the black cells, we can find a way to free him,” nodded Kenna, pacing near Sansa. “What of Arya? Has anyone managed to find her? Do we know if the Lannisters captured her?” 

“No, m’lday,” said another crannog, a tall, slender woman with fiery red hair and forest green eyes. “None’ve seen the lass since morn. Tanner and Lovat are look’n for her in the streets now.” 

“What of the ship? Is everything secure?” asked Kenna, her accent softer and coherent compared to her people, but still from the mires and the forests and swamps. “Who did we send with word to Robb Stark?” 

Night came swiftly, and the rest of her people returned to eat and rest for the coming days. The Stark luggage, what was necessary, was carried off to the narrow lagoon and placed on a flat barge anchored on the shore. Two men shoved off and steered the barge out into the bay, carrying the heavy load out to the ship waiting far off in the distance under the cloak of darkness. There was nothing better than the night for sneaking about and taking leave. In the dark, no one could see enough to know, and without lanterns or candles on the barge, none above could tell what was happening upon the waters. There was no moon, and the city was dark. 

“Lady Kenna?” whispered Sansa, sitting up and holding her knees to her chest. “What will happen to us? What will they do to my father?”

Kenna offered the girl a hand of comfort and a small smile, confident and warm, “Nothing will happen to your father, I promise you, Sansa. We plan to free him. We will all be with your family, in the North, where you belong.” 

“And Arya?” 

“We’ll find her, too,” swore Kenna, bringing the girl in for an embrace. “I swear it.” 

Three days passed before Lord Varys showed up, dressed as a prison guard and handing Kenna and two of her men the same fittings. The fabric smelled of piss and sweat, but it didn’t need to smell nice in order to pick a lock and let out an honest man. The trousers fit well enough, if only a touch loose at her waist, but Kenna fashioned a belt through the loops, and cinched it tight. Soot from the fire smeared over her face helped disguise the fact that she was a woman, as did the thick frock of black and the hood to go with it that hid her hair. 

Sansa flitted and frittered on the edges of the crannogs milling about, trying to stay as close to Kenna as possible, but she couldn’t go with the older girl on this trip up into the keep. Instead, once Kenna and her men were ready, she turned to Sansa and asked that she stay at Mara’s side, the woman that stayed by the fire, tending it while stitching together a small set of boy’s clothes and a set of larger ones for a man - Reed colors, in the style of the crannogs, for Ned Stark and his daughter, so no one could call them out quickly, or notice them at all until they were on board the ship and enough into the journey to White Harbor. Sansa already knew, as Mara had taken the girl’s measurements the first night in the cavern. The clothes for Lord Stark had been measured out from the clothes in his trunk before it had been rowed out to the ship outside the bay. Kenna was pleased to see Sansa nod and take up a seat next to Mara and take up her father’s breeches, helping with the sewing. 

There was no need for pleasantries with Varys, after all, it had been a rather large favor Kenna had called in, and he had been wary to assist, but he couldn’t very well refuse, after all she’d done for him in the past. He’d really had no choice, but he’d damn well made her wait for it, that was certain. Kenna would hardly hold it against him. It was Varys, and he never did anything in half-measures. If he had come, then it was the best possible moment to break Ned Stark out and be away before the Lannisters knew anything was amiss. 

Kenna, Fergus and Noren kitted themselves with only a dagger each and followed Varys up into the forgotten tunnels through the bowels of the keep. None spoke, and that was fine. There was no need to alert the other guards that may be strolling through on watch in the upper cells. Kenna stayed close to Varys, no torch in her hand, but she did keep her fingers curled about the pummel of the dagger strapped to her waist. 

They must have travelled more than half an hour through the tunnels, until Varys pulled a ring of keys from the belt cinching under his belly. Through the darkness, the light of the torches shown on a large door, fitted with armor, and iron riggings. It was charred wood, and charcoal iron, and sanded smooth, when it was first wrought. Time had warped the wood, and the blackened bolts were rusting, but it still held firm as Varys unlocked and forced it open. 

“One flight down, my lady,” whispered Varys, holding the door open for Fergus and Noren, while Kenna stayed next to him. “Middle cell on the right. May all the Gods be with you in this venture.”

“I hope you’re right about Daenerys Targaryen,” was Kenna’s reply, embracing the eunuch as an old friend, and feeling his arms wrap around her in return. “This isn’t farewell, m’lord. We’ll meet again, as friends. Just...If you could tell him...Tell him how much I’ve loved him. I’ll always love him.”

“Very well, my dear girl,” said Varys, so quiet against her ear. “Until we meet again.” 

They pulled away from each other, and Kenna moved onward with her men. Varys would disappear back up to the keep, to his robes and his role as Master of Whisperers, having had no part or knowledge in the rescue of Ned Stark. The door would be left unlocked, and that was all he could do without being caught. Future plans depended on him remaining alive, and no one could know how close he’d been, or was, to Kenna Reed and the Starks. His deception had been a long game, every move calculated a thousand times over, and vetted with every failure he could imagine, before he took a step or nudged a pawn into place. Kenna knew enough, and she’d helped him in more ways than she could count. 

Down they went, down a winding flight of stairs and scattering of rats. The steps ended in a corridor of endless darkness, but the torches lit their way. There had been no guards strolling about, that they found, but that could change on the way out. They were all prepared for a fight, if need be, mostly Kenna. Fergus and Noren would help Lord Stark, carry the man out to freedom, if it came to it, while Kenna, the smallest and most agile, would take as many men down as she could. If she died, it would be doing her part to her liege lord and the North. 

There were no other prisoners being held this far below in the black cells. There were no prisoners at all in the black cells. There were plenty of rats, though, to be sure. They were thin little things, starving, but they paid Kenna and her companions no mind as they treaded carefully. It was an endless corridor of cells, but eventually Fergus whistled from ahead, and Kenna moved forward to take a look. 

The man in the cell shrunk away from the light, but after a few moments, he managed to shield most of it with a shaking hand and squint through the bars. His face fell for a moment, most likely thinking it was Varys, but then he recognized Kenna, and his expression grew worried, wary. 

“You shouldn’t’ve come,” he rasped, like a man in need of drink. “They’ll have you thrown in here with me if they catch you.” 

Kenna shrugged with a smirk, reaching under the tight hood about her head and pulling a few pins free of her wild curls, “Well, m’lord, they’ll have to catch me first. By the time they know of anything, we’ll be long gone.” 

“What?” 

She didn’t answer him, but set to work on the lock keeping him in. Bending the pins straight, and twisting them together, Kenna inserted them into the keyhole, searching for the tumbler. It took a few seconds of wiggling, but the corded pins caught on something, and she pressed up and turned the latch to the right, grinning when there was a click and the cell door creaked as it opened barely an inch. Standing, Kenna held the door open, the torches in her other hand, while Fergus and Noren stepped into the cell and helped the lord to his feet. The man rasped and grumbled about going it on his own, but Kenna would hear none of it. If he tried to limp his way through, he’d only slow them down. She ordered Fergus, a man with a wide set of brawny shoulders, to throw the lord over his shoulder if need be, but they were making haste as quickly as possible. 

The men took their torches, Noren in front, while Fergus and Lord Stark took up the rear, and Kenna stayed in the middle, ready to slide under Noren’s arm and fight. They made it halfway up a flight of stairs before Fergus had to haul Lord Stark up and continue on with the man over his shoulder. The man gruffed his disapproval, but finally went quiet as they made it to the door of the black cells. There were voices on the other side, and Noren stepped to the side and allowed Kenna to pass. 

The door gave a sharp creak when she kicked it open, knocking two guards to their arses in the process. It gave her enough time to stab one in the heart, and catch the wrist of the other guard raising a blade to strike at her. It didn’t take much to twist the man’s hand and loosen his grip, Kenna taking her own dagger and swiping it across the man’s throat. She didn’t stay to watch him die, knowing the wound deep enough to help him bleed out. Noren followed her, and Fergus followed him, and then Kenna took her place in between them again. It was like a dance as they made the trip back to the cavern. Every so often, Kenna would slip from under Noren’s arm, and leave a guard or two in their wake, deadly and silent, before moving back between her men. 

It was a slower trek back to safety, but more quickly than if Ned had been allowed to hop along on one foot. They made haste, despite the extra weight Fergus had taken on, and only 5 guards had been killed between the black cells and the tunnels of the keep. Sloping floors and crumbling stairs awaited them, and Fergus didn’t even make a sound. 

It was an uneventful journey back to the cave from there on. 

When they arrived, there were more people than Kenna could count, and the afternoon sun was disappearing below the horizon. Sansa stood abruptly from her perch by the fire, already fitted into her tunic and wool breeches, red hair pulled back and tucked up into a cap. A filthy little girl in a tunic and muddy breeches stood with the Stark girl, the large eyes so very much like the Starks, that Kenna knew from a glance it was Arya, found at last. A man in all black stood next to the girls, Yoren from the Night’s Watch, whom Kenna knew well from over the years. There were several young boys, older lads, and three suspicious men chained together, guarded by the few other Men of the Night’s Watch. One of the men caught Kenna’s eye, like he could see straight through her, as if he recognized her soul. 

“Fergus, set Lord Stark by the fire,” ordered Kenna, tearing her eyes away from the strange man in chains. “Make him comfortable. He needs water and food, and that leg needs tending.” 

Fergus nodded and did as he was bid without complaint, never one for much talk and a man of few words. Noren helped him with Lord Stark, settling the man near the fire on a bundle of furs, and once they were away, Arya and Sansa rushed to their father, crushing him from two sides. Mara took up residence at the lord’s cocked leg, and worked on it gently, while the Starks enjoyed their reunion. 

Kenna left them to it, knowing that once Lord Stark’s wound was cleaned and tended, it would be time to leave. 

Instead, Kenna ordered the crannogs to ready for departure, and then greeted Yoren with a firm embrace, “You look as if you’ve seen better days, old man.” 

“Aye, and you look as if you’ve been rollin’ in shite,” cackled Yoren, pulling away to hold her at arm’s length to get a better look at her. “You’ve grown, girl. By the gods, you’re a woman now. Still handy with a blade, too, I reckon?” 

“Enough so to best you, again,” smirked Kenna, grinning and nodding over to the gaggle of misfits and prisoners with a cocked eyebrow. “A mighty fine group of recruits you’ve got there. Any of them worth the trouble?”

Yoren nodded, not very enthused, “A smith’s apprentice, strong lad. The rest… We’ll mold them into men of the Watch in time.”

“And the prisoners?” asked Kenna, trying to avoid the gaze of the one man chained to two others, the one with the piercing eyes and a streak of white in his red hair. His gaze was unsettling. “What of them?”

“I can’t really say,” answered Yoren with a sigh. “They’ll probably desert first chance they get, and then off goes their heads.”

Kenna nodded, chancing a glance at the Starks again, “Was it you who found Arya?”

“Aye,” Yoren returned the nod, following Kenna’s gaze. “Had your people out lookin’ for her, thought I’d help for the sake of it. The Starks have been good to the Night’s Watch. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got whelps to round up and get on a damned ship.”

She let him go, and set about helping her people gather up the odds and ends, rolling furs and blankets into tight packs. Everything that could fit was set on the flat barge, and sent ahead. Soon little boats were passing back and forth in the bay, taking some and returning empty, until it was just Fergus, Noren, the Starks, and Kenna. It was Noren who helped Lord Stark into the boat, and then his daughters, pushing off from the shore and into the dark waters beyond. 

It was while Fergus and Kenna were waiting for a return boat that a crunch echoed from behind and both of them turned with weapons ready. Sandor stood at a distance from the dying fire in just a tunic and his leather britches, a sway in his gait and a wine skin in hand. Just the sight of him had Kenna’s breath catching in her chest, like rope knotting tight around her heart. It was too much, seeing him again after coming to terms with the fact that she would never see him again. They had given each other up, for the sake of a better future, and with the knowledge that Kenna had been promised to another, and wars were soon to come. They had never fully been with each other, and Kenna had always regretted, knew she would always regret, never taking off with him when they had the chance. She wanted him, and she would die loving him, but he had spoken too many truths and argued his points until she bent. 

And then he was… there. 

“Come with me,” said Kenna, lowering her dagger and motioning for Fergus to make himself scarce for a moment. “I don’t have to marry him. We could fight together, die together. Please, Sandor… I love you. Please?” 

He wasn’t too into his cups, because he managed a firm, solid stride across the rocky floor of the cave to close the distance between them. Sandor backed her up against the wall of the cavern, and caressed her throat. A calloused thumb traced the plumpness of her lower lip, then his mouth was on her, and the wineskin in his hand thumped to the ground with a slosh.

The love and passion emoted in that kiss would forever be seared into her memory. 

Kenna was unaware of the tears that had started to fall down her cheeks, until the thick pads of Sandor’s thumbs were wiping away the evidence, mouth pulling away from her lips. His eyes were wet, as well, and he clung to her as tightly, if not more, than she was clinging to him. It was a rare show of genuine emotion from the man, and that, also, would remain with her until the day she died. Being two heads shorter than the warrior, but more level in his arms, toes of her boots grazing the rocky floor of the cave, they were face to face and lost in the sadness of each other’s gaze. 

She knew that he meant this as farewell...

“Please,” cried Kenna, hands moving back to his face. Her voice was thick with grief. “I love you, Sandor. Please.” 

“I don’t put faith in the gods,” Sandor rasped, hands moving to cup the suppleness of her jaw in a reverent way, but his gaze never faltered, “but they sent me a rare woman in you.” 

He kissed her one last time, and Kenna was left feeling empty, broken. Even as Sandor set her down on unsteady feet, and picked up his wine skin, she felt the finality of the moment. It was all she could do to choke down the sobs and dry her eyes. Further tears would do nothing for her. 

Kenna grabbed her pack from the ground, and called Fergus, who came around a bend and onto shore with a boat. Sandor was already sitting on a rounded boulder, drinking deeply from his wine skin, and watching as the boat shoved off into the bay. Kenna was the only one facing the cave, and Sandor stayed to watch her leave, until the little boat was too far away to see the cave in the dark, and Kenna was certain he was still there, drinking away his own sorrows, while she buried her despair deep inside of herself where not even she could reach it. 

It was like a weight in the pit of her stomach, twisting unnaturally, knowing that she would never see him alive again, and hoping she was wrong in that knowledge. 

  
  



End file.
